#fridayflash: The Other Woman

It’s the announcement that he’s leaving that surprises Iman the most.

“Why now?” she asks. The baby is due in two months. Their daughter Tulen is not yet four. She can’t do this alone.

Bakar stares at her. “You knew? Of course you knew.” His face pinches as he folds his arms and spits, “You and your witchery,” before turning away. 

It’s not witchery, but Iman doesn’t have the energy to argue. “It’s not—I’ve let you—” She drops her hand and stares at the wooden spoon she hadn’t realised she’d been waving about. “Just… why now?”

He slumps on their tattered couch, runs a hand over his face, scratches at his beard and mumbles something.

Iman leans forward. “What? I didn’t catch that.”

He looks up, exasperated, and repeats louder, “I said, she’s pregnant. Can’t you read that off my mind? Do I suddenly need to spell everything out for you now?”

“But I’m pregnant too.” It comes out in a bewildered rush she hadn’t meant to speak aloud. I’m pregnant too and he’s also your child. And Tulen is your daughter. You should be there for them. For us. Not this other woman.

Bakar just gives her a weird look. “So?”

“So? So? What do you mean ‘so’? This is your child. I am your wife. She is nothing. A whore.” The girl is not a whore. She’s a sixteen-year-old kid flattered that a good-looking man ten years her senior is paying her interest. Iman knows that but she doesn’t care. She wants things to go back to the way it was before. Before, when she was cooking lunch and ignoring the fact that she knew her husband was cheating on her. He’d done it four years ago when she was pregnant with Tulen, as if a few months without sex would be the death of him. She’d ignored it then too. Maybe she shouldn’t have.

He sighs and leans his head back against the backrest, covering his eyes with his forearm. Iman steels herself to fight, for the careless words she knows will cut her to the bone. She’s thrown when all he says is, “Her parents are kicking her out of the house. I can’t bring her back here. That’s not fair to you.”

Just as quickly, her self-righteous anger deflates. It’s nice to know her husband has learnt some responsibility, even if it’s not towards her. She leaves him to stew on the couch and heads back into the kitchen, where she’d been making soup. It’s starting to boil over and she hurries to lift the heavy pot off the coals.

Iman stirs the soup and tastes it absently, her gaze fixed on the blue sky outside the window. The sun is warm, but she is cold. It’s not until she feels heat on her cheeks that she realises she’s crying. I told you so, she imagines Rahsia saying, You knew he would cheat on you. She hates this talent that she and Rahsia share, this ability to read minds. There are many things about her marriage she would rather have not known.

They need to talk through this. Iman washes her face and sets the table. As much as Bakar assumes she can read everything on his mind, that’s not true. Her talent is weak and untrained—the main reason she knows about the girl is because Bakar dreams very loudly about her every night when he sleeps in their bed.

Bakar takes his place at the head of the table when she tells him lunch is ready.

“Where’s Tulen?” he asks.

“Out with Rahsia,” she says. Her best friend had come over this morning and taken the four-year-old out shopping for her upcoming birthday. Iman wonders if Rahsia had known something, whether she’d read something off Bakar’s mind. Had she planned for them to be alone? Iman wouldn’t put it past Rahsia.

They start eating.

Iman breaks the silence. “How long?”

“Huh?” 

“How far along is she? Her pregnancy?”

Bakar shrugs as he spoons more soup messily into his mouth. “Long enough to show a little.”

“How long have you been seeing her?” She could guess, but she doesn’t want to. She wants to force a confession out of him, as if that would make her feel any better and him any guiltier.

He manages to almost look contrite. “Six months.”

“So the minute you knew I was pregnant.”

He doesn’t say anything, just continues eating.

“You do know you’ll need her parents’ consent for marriage.”

His spoon clatters, spilling soup everywhere. “Marriage? What?”

Iman’s anger burns cold. “You’re leaving me to take care of your underaged mistress because she’s pregnant and you’re not going to actually marry her? You’re not going to legitimise your own child? What were you planning to do? Just live together so everyone would think she’s a cheap whore?”

“No! I mean yes! I—How do you even know how old she is?”

“I snooped, okay. Happy? You were dreaming about her every night you were home and I was angry so I wanted to find out who she was and I—” 

It hadn’t been her finest moment, storming up to the house, banging on the door demanding to see that slut only to find a pair of confused parents and a frightened teenager. She’d pretended she’d gotten the wrong address. 

Iman shakes her head, hoping she isn’t the one who has caused this tragedy. No, it was his fault for sleeping with her. “What did she tell you?”

“She said she was nineteen.”

Iman snorts.

“I’m sorry.”

She knows he’s not, but she nods. “You’d better marry her. You’ve already ruined her life.”

---

So I have all these short pieces I've been doing for class and decided it was time to post one up.

This one is a snippet on Tulen's mother, and how/why she separates from her husband, so it happens before both Secretkeeper and Absolution. If you've read the short Shattered Memories on The Painted Hall Collection, you'll recognise Iman and Rahsia. 

#fridayflash: Memories

“Rahsia, this is all really yours, you know,” she said, eyes staring up at the gathering rain clouds.

Rahsia frowned. What a strange thing to remember. She had never stared up at … no one had ever said that to—she froze, snatching at the memory in her head.

“I felt terrible being the Secretkeeper, as if I’d stolen your life. Nek knew it would pass from me fairly quickly, although she didn’t know until right at the very end of her life that it would go to me at all. She didn’t know it would go back to you. I didn’t either, not until now. I’m glad, though. I’m glad you’ll have the life you’ve always wanted, that you’ve always planned for. You don’t have to avenge me. Just ... just watch over my children if you can. I don’t know if you can. Everything is changing. You might end up in Suci, for all I know.” She laughed.

Iman laughed.

This was Iman’s Memory, but wasn’t she at the Temple? What was she doing lying on the street dying? How could Rahsia even access them unless—

Rahsia scrambled to her feet and raced out the door, startling everyone in the tailor’s shop, racking her memory—no, Memories—for where Iman had last been. She stumbled into a dark alleyway and was greeted by crowds. Priests, doctors, passers-by—it was like the day Nek had died all over again, except that this was out in public, where everybody could intrude into her grief.

Father Farouk stood over Iman’s broken body.

“I know who killed her,” Rahsia said, breathlessly.

The priest from Suci tilted his head inquisitively. “You have the Memories.”

Rahsia almost chuckled. He’d said it exactly the same way to Iman before, as if he were not checking, not asking, but telling her that she does. But it was still a question—even if it was written on his face, not in his tone. “Don’t tell me: You need me. We have things to do.”

His lips quirked upwards slightly before smoothening out quickly into seriousness. “Take your time. But not too much. We must uncover the true rites behind the Sacrifice and the Penance before it is invoked.”

Before the end of the world. Memories bubbled to the surface, but Rahsia suppressed them for the moment. “I must bury Iman first, and settle her children.”

Farouk nodded. “Do they have family?”

“No. None left. But there are friends, I suppose. Neighbours who will do what is necessary.”

“When you are ready, then.”

“I will see you within the week.” Despite her words, Rahsia didn’t leave immediately. Instead, she grabbed hold of Farouk’s arm. “Take what you need. She needs justice.”

Farouk nodded and laid a hand on the crown of her head, pulling the Memory of Iman’s murder.

“Justice will be served,” he murmured before disappearing into the crowd.

---

So I've finished compiling The Painted Hall Collection into a single book, and decided to add a bonus story, Shattered Memories. This is a short story that happens sometime in Secretkeeper, which is the second book of what's going to be the Absolution Trilogy. If things go as projected. I'm still working out what happens where. 

But, bonus short story!

Details to come soon!

#AtoZChallenge: Young -- or when Rahsia was young

I don't know if I'm going to keep this, but I like it well enough. It's sort a continuation from Rahsia. (With some stuff in between but eh.)

---

Nek proved hard to corner that evening, though Rahsia tried as hard as she could to speak to her away from her mother. She couldn’t figure out whether it was Mak who kept hovering over them or if it was Nek who kept steering them to Mak, but every time Rahsia was alone with Nek and was about to ask her about what Iman’s mother had said, she’d find that Mak was somewhere within earshot.

By the end of the night, Rahsia was grumpy and annoyed. Finally, Nek came in to tuck her into bed. Rahsia saw her chance.

“Nek,” she started to say, only to be interrupted by her grandmother.

“Rahsia, a secret is a secret. I know you want to ask me about your father, but if your mak doesn’t want it to be said, you can’t sneakily ask me and expect me to tell. That’s what it means to be a Secretkeeper. To keep the secrets safe so that you protect the dignity and the wishes of the person who told it to you.”

“But don’t I have the right to know about my father?”

Nek smoothed Rahsia’s dark hair back from her face. “You do have a right to know, but not from me.”

“But Mak doesn’t want to tell me anything! It’s not fair.” Rahsia could feel the tears prickling behind her eyelids. She forced them back. She wasn’t going to cry like a baby. Not for something stupid like this.

“And she has a right to act that way.”

“Why do you get to know?”

“Because I am her mother, child, and I have the authority to ask her to tell me. You are her child, so she can decide what part of her life she opens up to you.”

“Can’t you make her tell me?”

“What good would that do? It will only cause her pain and create a rift between you.”

“Because of who my father is?”

“No, that is over and done with. Because when you force someone to speak about something they are not ready to share, you rub chilli into wounds that have not yet healed. She carries a heavy burden in her heart that she cannot let go of yet. And I share that burden with her as the Secretkeeper.”

Rahsia’s mouth formed a silent O. “Is it difficult to be a Secretkeeper?”

“Yes. I have heard many, many terrible secrets and none of them can pass my lips. I guard them jealously, even against the priests—”

“But they can read minds, can’t they?” Rahsia interrupted. “Then they would know everything that everyone has ever told you in secret!”

Nek chuckled. “They can’t read my mind. One of the secrets our ancestors have passed down to use is how to shield our minds from being read.”

“Wow. Can you teach me?”

“I will, one day. When you are old enough, I’ll teach you how. It will be a good thing for you to learn.”

“Can we teach Iman too?”

Nek looked sharply at her. “You haven’t told her anything, have you?”

“No, Nek. I didn’t. I promised. But she told me she was afraid of going to the Rumah Ibadat because she didn’t want the priests to know where she’d hidden her stash of chocolate from her brothers.”

“It wouldn’t hurt for her to share, you know. But yes, we can teach her too. Many people in Iman have learnt various forms of mind-shielding, so it’s not like it’s a deep, dark secret. It’s good to learn in a place like Impian, where anyone could force themselves into your mind.”

“Can the King read minds?”

Nek shook her head. “No, it’s only something those of Impian blood can do. The King is from Maha. You know what Mahan’s power is, right?”

“Strength?”

“Yes, that’s right. Now, go to sleep, Rahsia. It’s late.”

“Yes, Nek.” Rahsia snuggled further under her blankets. “Goodnight Nek.”

“Goodnight.” Nek kissed her on the forehead and then left the room, switching off the light and closing the door behind her.

#AtoZChallenge: What I Wrote Today

Also, what on earth am I writing =.=

---

The next day, Rahsia doesn’t get to resume her lessons, though. She’d had to head in to the shop, and by the time she reaches Iman’s apartment in the afternoon, she walks in to find Ahmad there. He jumps to his feet defensively when she enters.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks.

“I could ask you that same question,” she replies dryly.

“I’m their father.”

“Estranged father.”

“So I haven’t been around. Does that mean I should never get to see them?”

Rahsia wants to retort, but she knows that Iman does want her children to see their father, even if it’s once in a long while, so she shrugs her shoulders. “Well, as long as the children want to see you.”

Tulen nods at her and says, “It’s all right, Aunty Sia. I was hoping bapak would turn up soon.”

Rahsia turns to Telus who is staring wide-eyed at the man. “How about you Telus?”

The boy shrugs a little shyly.

“Do you know who he is?” Rahsia asks.

“He’s my bapak,” Telus replies but he doesn’t sound convinced.

“Have you met him before?”

“Maybe?”

“Yes, you have, Lus. Bapak’s been here four times already!”

Rahsia does a quick mental scan of the room. Tulen is holding her thoughts tight to herself and Rahsia can’t help but give an approving smile. Telus has hazy memories of maybe seeing the man before, but he’s not sure. There’s nothing negative attached to the memories, so Rahsia lets it go. Ahmad himself is a mess of uncertainty and pride, as if he’s not quite sure what he’s doing here, but he’s proud of himself all the same.

Why should he be proud of just seeing his children a few times a year? Rahsia shakes the thought away. He can be proud of whatever he wants. “Well, then. You’ll be seeing to their dinner?”

Ahmad looks confused.

“Will you be getting dinner for them, or should I be planning on being back later?”

“What about Iman?” he looks from Tulen to Rahsia.

“She’s rather caught up in something these days.”

Ahmad’s face darkens. “How dare she?”

“How dare she what?”

“Ignore our children?!”

“Oh, so you can ignore the children, but she can’t?”

“She’s their mother!”

“You’re their father!”

“It’s different—”

“And why would that be? And don’t say it’s because she’s a woman. I imagine it took both of you to have them, so it should take both of you to care for them, no?”

Ahmad flails for an answer.

“So you’ll be getting them dinner?” Rahsia asks again, a dangerous look on her face.

“Yes,” he answers weakly.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow then, Tulen, Telus.”

“Bye Aunty Sia, and thanks!” Tulen calls after her.

---

Getting there... the full target is 60k, of course, but this month's target is only 30k.

#AtoZChallenge: Visions (snippets of the current WIP)

Rahsia scrabbles at the last of her dreams. She’s built her life around a lie. Now that it has all been taken away, she has nothing. Everything she’s been doing in between has been waiting. Waiting for her destiny. Now she has no career, no prospects, no training that would be useful for anything. What use is knowing how to shield her mind to prospective employers? How useful is unravelling a dream to anyone but a priest or a Secretkeeper? What in Trikingdom can she earn by knowing how to skim thoughts or how to tell lies from truth? How could Nek have done this to her?

But it hadn’t been her fault. Nek couldn’t have known, could she? Foretelling was for priests. Nek had always insisted on that. But she’d also told Rahsia many times that she would be the one to take over. Not her mother. Not anyone else. If she’d known, she wouldn’t have— she would—

Nek hadn’t known. It’s a flimsy kind of comfort, but the only one she can find, at least until Iman wakes up. Maybe Iman will be able to tell her more. Tell her something comforting.

---

“What’s your end goal?” Rahsia finds herself asking.

“My what?”

“A priest doesn’t hang around and give advice for no reason, especially one from Suci. What are you trying to do?”

Father Farouk stretches open his hands as if trying to indicate he has come with wide open arms. Rahsia doesn’t believe it.

“Like I said yesterday, you’re important. I don’t know exactly how yet, but you are. And if you’re important, I need you to know everything you should be knowing and doing everything you should be doing,” he says.

“How do you know I’m important?”

He taps his head then points upwards.

“A vision?”

He sighs. “I guess you can call it that. No, it’s not really a vision. A vision would tell me clearly what’s going to happen and most likely when. This is more like a … well, a knowing.”

“A knowing.”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Don’t injure yourself trying.”

“Anyway, no change to our dear patient. And I’m sure you’re worn out. I will see you tomorrow.”

#AtoZChallenge: Update for #campnanowrimo

Sooooooo I've been dreadfully behind on my Camp NaNoWriMo goals, even though I've already reduced it drastically.

But yesterday, I did this.

So it's all good, at least until I have to hit my next goal tomorrow.

---

Rahsia wakes up with a crick in her neck. She doesn’t recall why she’s sleeping on the floor in such an awkward position. It’s not as if she fell asleep drunk last night, unless the priest had spiked her tea. He wouldn’t have done that. He couldn’t have done that either, unless he’d brought it with him. There is no alcohol in her house. No drugs of any kind either.

She stretches, feeling aches all along her body. The first thing she does is go in and stare at Iman. Nothing has changed. She goes into the bathroom and takes a long, hot bath until a pounding on the door reminds her that the healer was supposed to come. Has arrived. She scrambles to dry herself and throw on some clothes, kicking her discarded ones into her room and closing the door. By the time she reaches the door, the healer is scowling.

“Sorry. I was in the shower,” she says.

He nods and pushes past her. His inspection is a repeat of everything he did the day before.

“Did you find out anything about this, uh, medical suspension trance thing?”

“No.”

He’s out within minutes, leaving with an admonishment for her to remember to “water Iman.”

Rahsia giggles uncontrollably for the next five minutes. When she finally catches her breath, so goes to do as she’s told. Iman now feels to her like a houseplant. It’s a terrible thing to think of about your best friend, but it’s also a wonderfully amusing thing to think of your worst enemy. She can’t decide which category Iman falls into now, so she just refers to her as her plant. She must be careful not to say it in front of the children.

#AtoZChallenge: Tulen (an excerpt from Secretkeeper)

Rahsia pushes the problem aside when she reaches the Iman’s apartment building. Iman lives—lived—in a small one-room flat on the second floor. It’s poorly maintained, the once-white paint now a dirty, peeling grey. There are weird greenish fungus patches in various corners. There’s rubbish strewn along the hallway and up the stairs. She has to pick her way through the dirt. It’s not as if this is the first time Rahsia has seen it—she comes over often to take care of the children during the weekends when Iman can’t tear herself away from the Memories—but it’s the first time she’s really noticed it. No, the children cannot stay here on their own.

She knocks on the door and smiles when she hears Tulen’s careful voice asking who it is.

“It’s Aunty Sia,” she says.

The chain rattles and the lock turns and the door opens with a squeak. The ten-year-old girl looks up at her with worried eyes. “Where’s Mak?” she asks.

Rahsia’s voice sticks in her throat. How does Tulen know to ask?

“She’s late again, isn’t she? Too busy to come home?”

When did Tulen start sounding so bitter against her mother? Rahsia shakes her head. “No, Tulen. I’m afraid…” She cannot continue the sentence. Looking down, she sees that she’s gripping her hands together, right over left, left over right, cracking her knuckles. She stills them. “Let me in,” she says quietly.

Tulen lets her in and closes the door behind them.

“Aunty Sia?” she asks, a quiver in her voice. She must suspect something now, because of Rahsia’s inability to act normally. How does one act in the face of death? She hadn’t had to think of that when Nek died because Nek was old, and her grandmother, and she’d known she was going to die months beforehand. Why hadn’t Iman told her that she was about to die? Didn’t the Secretkeeper know such things?

A Memory stirs in her.

‘There is no time,’ Iman says to Father Farouk. ‘It will happen today and I cannot say goodbye to my children.’ 
The priest protests, ‘Don’t go that way then. Take another route. We need you, Iman.’
‘You don’t need me, Father. You need the Secretkeeper. And I am not the one. I was meant to only hold this role to teach my daughter what she needs to know for the future and I have failed in that task. I have been so subsumed with the Secretkeeper role and the Memories and the need to know that I have missed out on my true task.’
‘Your daughter?’
‘Tulen will be the Helpmeet. How she comes to that role, I do not know. I have not been given to see. You priests should know. Don’t you?’

Rahsia skims through the rest of the Memory. “Your mother left you a letter,” she says to Tulen.

“What? Why? Where is it?”

“I must find it. I just learned of it. There is no easy way to say this, Tulen, but your mak is dead.”

Tulen is silent for so long that Rahsia is afraid she doesn’t understand. “Do you understand what I just said?”

“Mak is dead,” Tulen repeats hollowly.

---

I was going to give you a snippet from Absolution, but I figured I'd give you a current one from Secretkeeper instead.
Here, Tulen is ten.

#AtoZChallenge: Secretkeeper

Secretkeeper first started out with the thought: What do you do with the secrets you keep?

I’d originally wanted to do an urban literary type story about a girl—one of those quiet types who are great listeners—that’s feeling bogged down by all the secrets she has to keep because people keep telling her things and being trusted to keep them secret. It was supposed to be set in Penang, because why not write about the place I actually live in, huh?

But… I couldn’t get the story to move. Nothing worked, nothing was interesting enough.

Then I decided okay, let’s add in some magic since I seem to write better when its fantasy.

So the story got revised—she’s still burdened with secrets—but this time, it’s because she has developed some magical powers that lets her see visions of the future/or snippets of things that are happening. And what if she sees something, but misinterprets it? And there’s this whole fiasco of her trying to prevent this calamity from happening, but it’s only happening because she’s trying to prevent it…

And it also didn’t work out.

Well, so, I was also working on editing (or trying not to rewrite) Absolution and I got to the bit where I gave the Impianans mind powers and wondered what on earth for. BUT wouldn’t it be interesting that because of these mind powers the priests from Impian are feared? And the common people have to learn tricks/skills to prevent their minds being read?

I was still thinking about that one person made to bear everyone’s secrets, and that felt rather like priests who take people’s confessions, and thought … but what if only ONE person listens to confessions and those confessions and memories can be passed down through the generations?

So yeah, that was how Secretkeeper more or less came about.

#AtoZChallenge: Rahsia

Secrets are a burden.

Rahsia had known that since she was seven and her teacher had stared when she said her name was Rahsia binti Abdullah. The teacher asked if that was really her father’s name, but hadn’t said why, so Rahsia asked her mother when she got home in the afternoon.

“That’s none of her business,” her mother replied with venom.

“But what does she mean, Mak? Why would she ask that?” Rahsia pressed, confused though she had never known her father. Maybe now Mak would tell her about him. “Why shouldn’t bapak’s name be ‘Abdullah’?”

Her mother wouldn’t reply, so Rahsia asked her grandmother that night at dinner.

Nek Ramalan glanced at her daughter over their simple dishes of fried fish with sambal tumis and fried kangkung with steamed rice.

Mak shrugged her shoulders and refused to say a word.

Nek shook her head and sighed. “Rahsia, there are some things that you are too young to understand now. It is your mother’s secret and she will tell you someday.”

“Mak!” Rahsia’s mother protested, scowling.

“Even if she doesn’t tell you in her lifetime, one day when you are Secretkeeper, you will know. For now, it is your Mak’s secret to keep and mine to bear.”

“I will know it as the Secretkeeper?” Rahsia asked with excitement in her voice.

“Yes. You'll bear our secrets, Rahsia, when the time comes. You'll be our Secretkeeper, the one that the world needs at this hour. For this time.”

---

As a random aside, I don't know what Rahsia's mother's name is yet. LOL

This is also all very disjointed, and scattered all over the place & timeline, sorry.

#AtoZChallenge: Quest

I’ve been somewhat defining Absolution, and to some extent Secretkeeper, as YA fantasy. Yet whilst Absolution does fit the demographics (with characters in the YA range) Secretkeeper in all likelihood (especially with what I’m currently writing) will not. Rahsia, who is the main protagonist in Secretkeeper, will be in her thirties for the bulk of the story, at least in this envisioning. (WHO KNOWS WHAT WILL HAPPEN THE MORE I ACTUALLY WRITE! WHEN I WRITE!)

Right now, I’m thinking that both the stories might actually fit better as a Quest fantasy. The overall arch of the two books (I have no idea what the third one is about yet) is basically a quest to rediscover and fulfil the Berith Melach and the Sacrifice to prevent the destruction (or downfall) of the Trikingdom. Secretkeeper focuses more on the discovery by the Secretkeeper and the priests, Absolutions follows how it all actually comes to play.

#AtoZChallenge: Nek Ramalan + Oblectation

In my Iman post, I introduced the character of Nek Ramalan.

Nek is a short form for nenek, which is the Malay word for grandmother. She’s Rahsia’s biological grandmother, but since Iman grew up with Rahsia (they were neighbours and went to the same school) she also calls her Nek.

In other parts of the story, others—including Father Farouk—also refer to her as Nek. To me, it’s because she’s this little old woman who is so beloved in her community that everyone refers to her affectionately as grandma. I don’t know how this will hold up in the long run, though.

---

I couldn’t think of anything for O, so I went to look at Rebekah Loper’s The A-Zs of Worldbuilding.
O is for Oblectation, which means enjoyment; pleasure. So ... entertainment!

This is something that’s not really developed yet in my world, so… wow. Hard thinking here. Lol.
What I’d like is for some common Malaysian children’s games to come over, like kali toi, congkak or pepsi cola. Though… the names might have to be changed because they’d make no sense at all. This would probably feature more in Secretkeeper than Absolution, because Tulen in Secretkeeper will be younger and more carefree. By the time she gets to Absolution, she’s too busy fending for herself and trying to stay alive to even think about entertainment.

Here’s some examples:
http://www.themalaymailonline.com/features/article/on-the-streets-of-george-town-a-celebration-of-childrens-games-video
http://gtwhi.com.my/celebrate/heritage-celebrations-2016.html

---

This is also a two-in-one post because I gave up on thinking yesterday.

#AtoZChallenge: Memories (an excerpt from Secretkeeper)

Rahsia flops on her bed and stares up at the ceiling, watching the fan spin hypnotically.

You’ll bear our secrets, Rahsia, when you come of age. You’ll be our Secretkeeper, the one that the world needs at this hour. For this time.

Nek’s words slip into her mind and she has to pause to decide if it’s really her memory of Nek’s words, or if it’s something that’s resonating from Nek’s Memories. She doesn’t know if there is a difference, or if there should be. She’s so unprepared, despite having built up her life towards this point for the last thirty years. Her cheeks burn as she remembers how she’d given everything up so easily when Iman had taken the Memories from Nek. But what else was she to do, to think?

The sting of betrayal still sits in her heart, but its grip is looser now.

‘You have the Memories,’ Father Farouk says. 

The dreamlike quality and the setting in Rahsia’s guest room lets Rahsia know that it’s Iman’s Memory. This must have been from a year before, when Iman had first woken up.

‘The priesthood is not involved in the dealings and the office of the Secretkeeper. You alone hold its secrets. You hold all the secrets of the Secretkeeper.’ The priest tries to hold back a grin, but fails. He thinks he’s funny. He’s always had.

‘Why did it not pass to Rahsia?’ Iman asks. 

Rahsia feels a swirl of emotions that aren’t hers. Did the Memories pass on emotions? She isn’t sure. A little, she decides. There is, after all, muscle memory that she can interpret. Rahsia remembers the feeling of eyes widening, a realisation. Iman’s mouth falls open, she shakes her head. What had Iman realised?

But Rahsia cannot read thoughts, she cannot Remember Iman’s unspoken thoughts. So she doesn’t know what happened then, except that Iman had thought of her, had asked the same question she had, before taking up the role. Iman hadn’t stolen it from her. It had been forced on her. There is a little comfort in that.

—

In Impian, Memories are passed down through an unbroken line of women who take on the role of the Secretkeeper. It’s often passed from mother to daughter, but in certain cases, the Memories choose a more suitable host. In The Weight of Secrets (or Secretkeeper, as I call it), there’s a slight blip in the line of succession.

Also, yay! A current excerpt.

Still way, way, behind goals, but I WROTE STUFF!!

*wiggles*

#AtoZChallenge: Iman

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Man.” Rahsia gripped her mug of hot cocoa with both hands in the silence of her living room. Nek had felt well enough in the morning to go to the Rumah Ibadat, a duty she only managed to discharge two to three times a week now. The priests had sent a young acolyte to walk her there and promised to send her home if she weakened.

Iman, cradling her cup of tea in a similar manner, looked at her pointedly. “You were the one who asked her to stay with you.”

“What else could I do? It’s easier than having to run over five times a day every time Nek has a fall. Besides, she has yet to finish teaching me. She has to teach me everything about the Secretkeeper role before she dies.”

“That’s the real reason you want her here, isn’t it?” Iman said with a sly grin. “You think she’s going to die soon so you want to keep her close to ensure the power goes to you.”

“Iman! You know—”

“Yes, yes, Sia, I know. The role passes through the family line and you’re next in line. You don’t need to worry. Who wants to steal it from you anyway?”

Rahsia rolled her eyes. “Nek will know the time of her death anyway. She says it’s a boon given to the Secretkeeper so that she can prepare her successor.”

“So I’m guessing she doesn’t have a date yet?”

Rahsia shook her head. “No foreknowledge as yet. Though she could be keeping things from me…”

Iman reached over and laid a hand on her best friend’s thigh. “She wouldn’t do that. Look, she’s still strong enough to be out and about discharging her duties. Don’t worry. Besides, I can help, you know.”

“I—she’s not your—”

“Sia, Nek took care of me when I was young too. She’s like my godmother. Like my own grandmother.”

“But your children—” Rahsia stilled at Iman’s hand wave.

“Would benefit from knowing Nek better as their adopted great-grandmother. Tulen is already seven and Telus is three. They don’t need second by second supervision. I can come over on the weekends and you can take some time off for yourself. You need rest, Sia.”

Rahsia sighed, but nodded in assent. “Where are they now anyway?”

“Their father took them out.”

“Huh. Visitation day?”

“He just decided to show up. I don’t know how to predict the man anymore. At least he takes an interest in the children. Occasionally.”

Iman’s husband had left the family suddenly two years ago, when Telus had barely been weaned. After a couple of frantic months searching for him, involving daily visits to the local policing force and the Rumah Ibadat, Iman had decided to move on with her life. With Nek’s and Rahsia’s help taking care of the children, she’d found a job that would enable her to support her family. Now she worked during the weekdays when Tulen was in school and Telus was at the babysitter’s. Her husband had suddenly reappeared a year later, often staying only a day or two before moving on again. 

“You won’t divorce?”

Iman smiled wryly. “You know I don’t believe in divorce. He’s still my husband, still their father. Whether he decides to take an active role in their lives or not, that’s his choice. Though I won’t deny that if he disappears and never comes back, I will be relieved.”

“Did he ever say where he went?”

“No. And I can’t exactly ask, can I? We’re not quite on talking terms right now.”

Rahsia snorted then grew serious. “Iman, I can’t exactly ask you to deal with my problems when you’re barely coping with your own.”

“Rahsia, what else is family for?”

“You—”

“Shh. Best friend.” Iman pointed at Rahsia. “Plus godmother,” she brought her index fingers together, “equals secret sisters.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Rahsia replied, but she couldn’t help smiling.

---

And we finally get a current snippet from my failing campnano effort!
Iman is Rahsia’s best friend and Tulen’s mother. She's a slightly wacky and scatterbrained counterpoint to Rahsia's serious, earnest persona, and plays a key role in Secretkeeper.

#AtoZChallenge: Helpmeet

The high priest is now looking at me and his attention is unnerving. It feels as if his gaze is piercing into my very soul, seeing all the dark things hidden there.

“You stand beside the Penance as his Helpmeet, his right hand. What do you ask for in return?”

It takes me a beat to realise that his question is different. What do I ask for in return? I don’t know. I’d come into this expecting only to give. I have nothing in mind, and I almost say so, but even before I do, the word feels false on my tongue. “What should I ask for?”

The priest smiles. “What do you long for?”

Absolution. But I don’t know if I can ask for that, so I keep silent.

“Ask, Helpmeet. No matter what it is.”

So I do. What I get in response is a contemplative nod.

“Is that wrong?”

“There is no right or wrong, my child. But I sense that there is more.”

More? “I would… I would rather he not die. I would ask for his life.”

“Do you ask for nothing for yourself?”

“I thought I had.”

Holy Father Farouk opens his mouth but snaps it shut almost immediately. I wonder what he was about to say. He shakes his head and instead asks, “Why are you here?”

I want to reply it’s what must be done, as I so glibly had the day before, but I know what the priest will say in return to that. I steal a glance at Adam’s unmoving body and bite back a sigh. The truth had been demanded so I will give it. I hope that he’s unconscious, or at least so deep in his own thoughts that he doesn’t hear my answer.

“It’s for him. I’m doing this for him.”

“Because?”

“Because I love him?” It comes out like a question, my voice rising in pitch and in uncertainty.

He doesn’t comment on that. Doesn’t rebut, doesn’t press further.

---

Here’s another snippet from Absolution.

As you can now tell, Absolution jumps between various POVs, beginning with the first part as an almost second person epistle, moving into third person in the second part and then ending with the third part written in first person, from Tulen’s POV. It was a risk I was willing to take earlier on, but is now one of the reasons I’m really itching to edit and restructure everything.

The Helpmeet is a concept that came up during the writing process. I started off with the Penance carrying the main role of redemption, but later I needed it to be a collaborative effort and I needed a name for the role. The Helpmeet concept will also appear in Secretkeeper—Rahsia’s quest as a Secretkeeper is to rediscover the ancient rituals, eg Berith Melach, that make up the bulk of Absolution, and the concept of the Helpmeet is one of them.

#AtoZChallenge: Geography

So, talking about geography … I made a map!

So there are three city-states in the Trikingdom. Which is a stupid name because I couldn’t think of anything better. Hahaha.

Maha—meaning Great—is the strength of the kingdom. This is where the King is based, where he governs from. It’s a lush country with forests and farmlands, and is a more typically western/medieval-European type city. Think grand castles and looming arches, large stonework, and cobblestones—and, further out in the countryside, charming brick cottages.

Impian—meaning Dreams—started off as the tech-wonder type city, you know where people chased their dreams. It was meant to be more industrial at the start, but later evolved into something more dreamlike. Because if Maha is the strength of the kingdom, Impian is the heart. It holds the dreamers and the mystics, and is where the Secretkeeper is based, where judgement is often made. Impian is more tropical, with warm, humid weather, hard dirt streets and terrace houses with peeling plaster walls. It has jungles and rainstorms, and is a crowded South East Asian type setting.

Suci—meaning Holy—is the soul of the kingdom. Life revolves around the Temple and the priests, plus the constant traffic of pilgrims entering and leaving. This is where the High Priest is based, where sacrifices are made. To get to Suci, pilgrims from both Maha and Impian have to pass through Nun, which is the only entryway to the Guruntulang Desert. Then they have to trek through the desert to reach Suci. It’s sandy and dry and very, very brown.

(And yes, anyone who knows Malay can now tell I am very unoriginal with names. LOL)

#AtoZChallenge: Father Farouk

In my initial draft of Absolution, the High Priest was named Malachi. He was supposed to be this old man, waiting to die, waiting to pass on his office to the next generation. Here's a snippet of that deleted scene:

---

In the middle of the Holy City stood the Great Temple, a massive stonework structure that had stood on that same spot for thousands of years. Malachi, the High Priest, stood before the altar, holding up the brazier of incense, feeling almost as old as the temple.

How long has it been, he wondered to himself. He had come to the Holy City as a boy of twelve, starting as an acolyte and finally being ordained as a priest in his twenty-fifth year. He had served through two High Priests before being elected by God as the High Priest in his sixty-fifth year—that had been nearly twenty years ago. He had spent a total of seventy-two years in the Holy City.

When is it my turn to die, O God, he silently prayed as he waved the incense in the air. When will my turn be to hand this duty over to the next priest? I am old and tired, God. Take me home soon.

Almost mechanically, he set the brazier back into its place and stepped backwards out of the inner sanctuary. He let the curtains fall back into place over the inner sanctuary before turning and making his way out slowly to the courtyard.

Malachi.

The old priest stopped in his tracks, making a half turn to look at the curtained area warily.

Malachi.

“I am here, Lord,” he said, slowly retracing his steps.

---

I had problems with this later on because everything was super White and there I had a main protagonist with a very local name, Tulen. So when I reworked the geography of the area and decided on three separate city-states, I decided that each city-state would have its own culture, including the type of names. The Holy City was renamed Suci (which means holy, duh) and I figured that Suci would be a blend of both the Western culture of Maha as well as the Eastern culture of Impian… and the current High Priest was most likely have Impian roots at this point of time, also for plot reasons. Thus, he became Farouk, which apparently means Discerning Truth in Arabic.

Father Farouk is a young priest during Secretkeeper, in his late twenties. By the time Absolution comes around after about a ten year gap, he has become the High Priest—at a pretty young age for the role.

#AtoZChallenge: Conjure

Nun was a quiet, sleepy little town. When Adam first arrived from Maha, he found it strange—and a little creepy—that he saw no one until he reached the town centre. Even if he’d been coddled in the castle, it had always been full of people—servants, ministers, lords, relatives—and the city had always been bustling with life whenever he ventured in.
The Nun Chapel, the town’s main landmark and distinguishing feature, was smaller than he expected. He stood outside for a moment, taking it in. The entire building and its compound could probably fit in the open courtyard of the Maha Temple. He wondered briefly about that—shouldn’t the Nun Chapel be rich from all the pilgrims passing through?—when the door opened and he found himself face to face with its caretaker.
“Greetings, Penance. You have already been Cleansed?” was the first thing the old man said.
Adam was momentarily stunned. “Yes, back in Maha. How did you—” he stammered, before his scattered thoughts fell into place. He’d had an audience with Holy Father Farouk in Suci from Father Peter’s office in the Maha Temple through a shimmering mirror just over two weeks ago. “Father Peter conjured you? Through the mirror?” 
“Peter and the Holy Father both,” the priest replied. “It is the easiest way for us to communicate. Come in, son.” He led the way to a small alcove, gesturing for Adam to sit before introducing himself simply as the Reverend.

---

This was one of the weakest points in Absolution: the concept of the priests in the three city-states being able to talk to each other through mirrors. I had to find a name for it, and called it "conjuring".

Which I now think is pretty lame.

So... anyone got a better idea?

I'm not sure how I'm going to use it in Secretkeeper yet, but it'll probably be pretty useful since Secretkeeper's supposed to focuse so much more on the priesthood and the past.

#AtoZChallenge: Berith Melach

Today’s very belated post is about Berith Melach. This started off because of this line about a Covenant of Salt in the Bible… and I took it and ran with it.
The ritual itself appears in Absolution, but the goal is that much of Rahsia's work in Secretkeeper will revolve around discovering what the Berith Melach actually entails.

Here's an excerpt of some "lost writings" around the ritual:

Intricately tied to the Blood Sacrifice, it refers to the addition of salt to the covenant, thereby binding the supplicant to God for eternity. Salt is only added to a sacrifice when it involves the life of a man … To renege on the covenant (turn away from God, or leave the priesthood) will result in death. This is often obscured in the Scriptures due to its imprecise and archaic wording, leaving it open to much misinterpretation.
All High Priests and King Priests have gone through the Blood Sacrifice. It is not required of a normal priest or a king/leader. Thus the ceremony is only held at very long intervals, usually fifty years or more.
The Berith Melach is also used in the covenant between man and wife, where the seal of the covenant is when the man places a pinch of salt on his wife’s tongue and she returns the same. If either of them spits out the salt, that is a rejection of the union. A man may perform his side of the ceremony, but if she does not return the act, the marriage is not yet binding until she does. If she does not seal it within the month, his act is considered void and they are not bound legally.

#AtoZChallenge: Absolution

So this year’s A to Z theme is also my current camp nanowrimo project, sorta. Well, the world of my camp nanowrimo project would be a better description. This all happened because I already said YES to camp nano and a private cabin and then I realised but hey waiiiitttt what about A to Z? So yeah, this is me being overly ambitious. But it’s all related to the same thing, so it shouldn’t be too bad, eh? I hope?

Back in I don’t know when (I could check, but I’m too lazy), I started a novel project called Absolution. And then I finished it, and rewrote it, and pitched it … and it got rejected a few times so I’m thinking of doing a rewrite. I also have a bunch of notes from the last beta read that I’m still pondering over, but there is still a version of it out on submission, so I haven’t started the rewrite project yet.

ANYWAY, all this is background to this year’s camp nano project.

This year’s project is a rewrite of last year’s failed nanowrimo project because I had a theme and a concept then, but I was trying to ground it in reality AND IT JUST WOULDN’T WORK. (But I got an 11K day out of it so I’m good.) Late November I was thinking it over a bit more, and then it clicked. This concept would work if it were written in the same world as Absolution. AND it might even be the story before Absolution. So wait, now Absolution might be a book 2 instead of a book 1!

And because I had a lot of free time (my brain was just being a little hyperactive and procrastinating on doing everything else), I then had this BRILLIANT TRILOGY IDEA. (Maybe brilliant? I dunno. Let’s pretend it is for now until the next bout of self-loathing begins.

Book 1: The Weight of Secrets (also known as Secretkeeper, which is this year’s campnano project; focused around Impian)
Book 2: The Weight of Sin (also known as Absolution, because I like themes; focused around Suci, or the journey to Suci)
Book 3: The Weight of Strength (I have no idea what this is yet, except that it should be focused around Maha, which is the third state in my Trikingdom. I also don't know when in the timeline it should be yet. Lol)

At any rate, since this post is supposed to be about Absolution, here’s a snippet:

---

The thing is, sayang, there is no such thing as absolution. You just walk your path with faith and pray that it is enough. There, I have said it. Let there be no illusions between us. You search for absolution like I yearn for closure. Neither of us will find our hearts’ desire in this lifetime. Such things are not for the likes of us, murderers and slaves. Listen to Magda, child, and lessen your heartache.

Let me lay it out for you right at the start before I ramble and forget what it is that needs to be said. You will search, but you will not find. You will yearn, but you will not be fulfilled. What use does God have for us? We are dust in the desert, water in the ocean. One out of too many supplicants. Insignificant. Why should He grant you absolution? What penance can you perform in return?

We have left on a pilgrimage, but are we true pilgrims? We go because we have no choice. You would protest that you do. That you are not a slave like me. You could have declined, refused the journey, but would you have done so? You are as much a slave to your guilt as I am to my mistress. Your physical freedom to decline is worth nothing in the light of your spiritual need to go. This pilgrimage is a selfish one, begun in pride. It can only end in ruin. I pray you will find something good out of the wreckage to come. Maybe your purity—both in name and in spirit—will preserve you. God knows the rest of us do not deserve it.

You think I am devout, that I hold the secrets to reaching God. I do not. I have believed and I have doubted. I have prayed and I have railed against. He is who He is, unreachable. Unattainable. Magda will cease to exist. Yet, we are children of God. How do I explain this? How do I reconcile this? I do not. There is no point in trying to know the unknowable. My mind and my heart do not need to believe the same things. Is that not what pure faith is? (Maybe it is pure foolishness.)

But let me return to what drives you most. Sayang, no matter how many times you lay your hand on a goat and will your sin onto it, your guilt will remain until you find your own peace with God. The goat is not magical; it is an escape for those who wish to delude themselves. The animal cannot hold your sin, cannot take it. It makes no difference if you offer your sacrifice in the holy city of Suci or back home in Impian. If you believe God is all-seeing, you would know that location and distance is nothing to Him. But maybe it will assuage your heart, if nothing else.

---

See you tomorrow for B! I don't know what it will be yet! :)

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